


The BackUp

by MarvelLitChick



Series: Maybe Life is Just One Big Marathon... [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6007729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelLitChick/pseuds/MarvelLitChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve gets stuck pulling backup duty on an op he really didn't want to be a part of, he discovers that sometimes, life is better if things don't go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys, quick author's note. I've never posted on here before, so please be gentle. I'm also over on FanFiction.net under Marvel Lit Chick, with spaces, in case you wanna go find me over there. This is a little AU, in that Age of Ultron sort of only half happened. HYRDA was thwarted, but Pietro still died, but JARVIS is still JARVIS, etc etc. It's established Steve/Natasha. Oh, and Bucky was found and brought in not long after CA: TWS, and Wanda was recruited as an agent. Hope this all makes sense, and I hope it's still fun! Enjoy!

Steve had to admit, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t quite believe they were honestly doing this.

            He also had to admit to being just the slightest bit annoyed.

            _Captain America: Angry_ would be the headline, with his splang-ly fist in the camera’s face; he could see it now, could hear Tony giggling— _giggling_ —and making some comment about good word choices.

            That would annoy him too, but he’d be loathe to admit it, out loud anyway.

            But still.

            It’d been two years since the Battle of New York.

            Sixteen months since Fury had partnered him with Natasha.

            Fourteen months since he’d slogged up some rocky beach of the Potomac, unsure how he’d gotten there, but definitely certain it hadn’t been by his own power, the Triskelion smoking behind him.

            A year since he’d finally tracked him down—his best friend, his shadow, his savior.

            Bucky.

            Ten months since said savior had finally remembered who he was, nine months since SHIELD had finally determined he wasn’t a threat.

            And it had been a good, solid half a year since he’d realized that…maybe he was in love with the Black Widow.

            Considering he’d been brought back from the dead, having been _locked in a block of ice_ , she’d really given him the shock of his life when she’d smirked that smirk of hers and admitted that…maybe she’d fallen in love with him too.

            He looked over at her in the passenger seat.

            It had been one hell of a whirlwind since then.

            Getting Bucky back up to SHIELD’s training level, getting him back into the world, pulling him from the black clutches of the PTSD, and helping him integrate with the team.

            They were like a well-oiled machine now.

            But Sam was busy.

            Steve was suspicious that he’d asked out Maria Hill, and he felt bolstered in that suspicion, given the sound he’d heard her make that very afternoon as Sam had left her office, holding the door for Steve, who’d just so happened to be on his way in: it was, unmistakably, a _giggle_.

            A giggle.

            _Maria Hill_. Had _giggled_.

            Natasha had scoffed at him.

            But he’d sworn it was a genuine, honest-to-God, _girly_ giggle.

            But he digressed.

            Clint was also, of course, busy. Apparently the kids had some sort of New Year’s pageant at school and Laura was determined they both finally go together, with no wars, or aliens, or catastrophes getting in the way, interspersed with endless questions in tiny voices.

            _Where’s Daddy?_

_Is he coming? Is he coming to watch me dance?_

_Is Daddy saving the world again, Mom?_

            He’d snorted at the contorted expression on Laura’s face at last weekend’s double date.

            It still felt strange to him, this secret that Clint kept: his family.

            He got it, of course, and was perfectly willing to keep it quiet.

            But still; that night, Tasha bringing him into the fold like that.

            It was safe to say he’d felt pretty shell-shocked.

            She’d laughed at him the entire way home as he blinked over the dashboard, not to mention his casual assumption they’d slept together at some point. She’d muttered something in Russian under her breath, and though he was working easily enough on other languages, he still wasn’t sure just what it was.

            But anyway. Clint was out too.

            Bucky. He’d been an option.

            But then, snap of the fingers, that was out like a light, too.

            Which left SHIELD’s best spy team up for the job that Tony had ultimately blackmailed them into, sitting in Fury’s refurbished—as if Steve had really thought it’d needed another’s touch (he’d been wrong)—office. It was just all well and good that all the HYDRA tech they’d found—along with Loki’s scepter (thank God) had been trashed, or he hated to think what Tony might’ve included as an art piece.

            Even now, he was still a bit creeped out by the look on Tony’s face that afternoon, staring into Wanda Maximoff’s eyes, swearing up and down that it would all go, that he hadn’t decided to blow their parent’s home to shreds, and damn it to Hell if she thought she’d rather bitch and moan her whole life or kick some ass on his side of the playing field. Pietro made the wrong choice. She didn’t.

            He sort of felt like they’d side-stepped a huge can of worms right there, during that afternoon. He also figured that seeing her brother die in some stupid attempt at gaining the upper hand had sobered her up a bit.

            Needless to say, she wasn’t particularly crazy about their director yet, but she’d gained plenty of insight in the past few months of her training.

            But their new director didn’t take any crap, either, even as he gave it out.

            Which left this.

            He’d never have guessed that someone like Natasha could cave so quickly to two front row seats to Wicked in midtown, waved casually about in Stark’s hand, but…

            Here he was.

            The _backup_.

            He hated being backup.

            He was a man of action and he was fidgety.

            He hated sitting still, and he hated wondering what was happening, and where, and why the Hell couldn’t he do this himself and get it going already.

            And he hated listening to this stupid transponder.

            And this was why he hated it, because here he sat…

            Still trying to compute it all.

            Over and _over_ and over and _over_ a—

            “If you sigh anymore, Rogers, you’re gonna fog up the glass and we’ll be made.”

            He smirked. “They might just assume we’re a couple horny teenagers making out after a hot date.”

            She snorted. “Cute, Rogers.”

            “Did I get the lingo right this time?”

            Her snort became a soft laugh. “I’d be giving you hell if you hadn’t.”

            He admired the gentle, amused curve of her crimson painted lips.

            And sighed again, wincing as he caught himself.

            She lowered her binoculars, her two-carat diamond ring flashing in the moonlight as she looked at him. “Rogers…You’re breaking my focus here. I need you on point. Just because _you_ don’t need these…”

            “Still can’t believe you married me,” he muttered instead.

            She paused, her gaze softening—or, at least, he assumed, seeing as he couldn’t _see_ her much at all, super serum or no. God, wasn’t it supposed to be brighter in the future?! “Yeah, well…” She shrugged softly. “Why wait?”

            _A done deal_ , she’d called it, shrugging and blanching as he’d suggested a more traditional wedding. He still wasn’t sure why he’d done it. After all, traditional guy that he _used_ to be, he really had been serious; he wasn’t sure he was that guy anymore, the one that had gone into the ice.

            Someone slightly different had come out.

            Stupid question all the same; she was Black Widow, for God’s sake.

            “My no-nonsense wife,” he murmured under his breath, knowing perfectly well she could hear him.

            “I didn’t hear you complaining that night in Abu Dhabi,” she retorted.

            He laughed, nodding. That had been a good night.

            They’d been holed up, new partners, barely two assignments in, in some shabby hotel at two in the morning, bickering and hoping they were safe from the drug runners they’d run afoul of while hunting down one of Obadiah Stane’s last buddies in the rogue arms market.

            At least the place had had a nice mini bar.

            The sex was _so great_.

            Like a drink of water after a month in the desert.

            Given, he’d been no pure little boy before he’d gone into the ice, though Natasha had treated him as such. Not for long. A half hour in and she’d shut right up.

            “You seemed to have forgotten about that whole ‘USO Tour’ thing that I did, hm?” he’d teased as they’d lounged the next morning, waiting for Clint to radio the all-clear.

            “I don’t wanna hear about all your cheerleaders, Rogers,” she’d said, smacking him on the shoulder, and Clint had radioed, chuckling that maybe next time, they turn off their coms before shacking up for the night.

            A week later, he’d been force-fed the operative’s family. At their _farm house_.

            _Seriously_. He’d thought that he’d already had all the surprise he was capable of having.

But here they were, six months later, courthouse marriage and all, backup to Wanda, Wicked tickets tucked in his wallet, with their New Year’s reservations ticking ever nearer.

            “We have plenty of time, Rogers,” she murmured from beside him, binoculars pressed again to her face. “Would you relax? I’m trying to work, here.” But she was smirking again. “Anxious, are we?”

            He huffed. “I just don’t wanna miss our reservations. And why is this taking so long? And— _seriously_ —Tony is trusting this op to Wanda? They hate each other.”

            “Sensitive missions like this can take a long time to build up—trust me. I would know.” She sent him a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was somewhere between sultry and guilty. He knew how she felt about her past in the Red Room. She didn’t bring it up much—he’d discovered she needed about five shots of good quality vodka for that to happen, and he never pushed.

            She’d been getting better; at first, he’d been thinking that they’d have to make whatever they had together work without him knowing her entire back story, which would have been lopsided, given that _everyone on the planet_ knew his. But he’d been okay with it.

            And then suddenly, on her birthday, he’d made dinner for her at home, made sure to track down her favorite brand of liquor to bring in a little fun—not that he could get drunk in the traditional sense—and he’d been ironically gifted with her personal history.

            He’d also gotten _tears_. _Lots_ of them. From _Natasha Romanoff_. She’d also let him hold her while she clearly felt her most vulnerable, bearing her soul with the expectation that pure Steve Rogers would reject her initial training as a ruthless KGB assassin. They’d been working on this—her physical vulnerabilities, letting him near in a less than sexually controlled way, when her body had always been her most prized possession, her weapon.

            Needless to say, he’d felt like it was his _own_ birthday. And she’d been much better ever since, more relaxed, more…real. Less cool distance, and more warmth, more, ‘I married you because I love you and that makes me feel good’ rather than ‘scares the Hell out of me’.

            He felt like the luckiest guy on the face of the earth.

            He knew there was more, of course—a _lot_ more—but he was comforted now in the knowledge that she’d get to it when she could, and not before.

            And Steve Rogers was patient. He was _Captain America_ , for God’s sake. He could wait her out—as long as it took. He’d told her a long time ago that he was much more perceptive than she gave him credit for, that he’d lived through enough to have lived _two_ lifetimes, and he had come out into the second one with more talent at reading other people than those same people often realized. Even her. _Especially_ her. He’d told her that he’d been raised traditionally, that the ring on his hand meant forever, through the ups and downs, and the fights and the distance, and he didn’t care how awful _she_ thought she was—she could never be evil when she was capable of loving him.

            He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

            Since then, she’d been gifting him with this slightly strange version of herself, one that he wasn’t sure he’d met before, wasn’t even sure _Clint_ had met—and _they’d_ been best friends.

            She was just your average girl. The girl, of course, had been buried under layers and layers of pain and self-defense, hidden behind impossibly high walls—he thought of that ice sheet on that show she’d been saying they should finish, was it _Game of Thrones_?—but he’d scaled them, shield and all.

            Again, lucky.

            “Besides,” she cut into his thoughts with her soft voice. “Tony knows the only way we’re going to get the intel we need is if Wanda is able to crawl inside his head. Shmirkoff’s no pushover. Again— _I would know_. We met once, when I was…” She drifted. “Younger. He’s a snake.” She grimaced. “You think it’s ironic that Tony Stark gave me binoculars that aren’t strong enough?” She dropped them into her lap.

            He sighed, leaning back into the bucket seat. “He’s been rushing back and forth for the past twenty minutes. It’s obvious he’s getting ready for company.” He’d been watching the activity in the top floor penthouse since they’d pulled up, his serum-enhanced vision making it hard to ignore, really. “Just how long did it take him to swipe at Wanda’s false escort profile again?”

            “Just under forty-eight hours. Good thing we were able to access his browser history, or we might’ve been SOL and had to do this the hard way.”

            “You know I love the hard way,” he snorted bitterly.

            “Besides—” She poked him in the thigh. “—You still owe me dinner for that bet. You had three days, I had two.”

            He rolled his eyes. “I’d be making good on that right now if not for Stark. Doesn’t he have plans with Pepper, anyway?”

            “Knowing Pepper, her idea of a nice night is staying in and listening in on this.”

            He snorted again. “And what’s Wanda offering this guy—the ‘Girlfriend Experience’?”

            She cocked a brow. “Would you know about it, Rogers? Or did you just like to play hooky with all your chorus girls and then ditch it back to your bunk on the warfront?” she teased, her hand landing on his knee.

            He rolled his eyes again.

            She chuckled, dropping it. “Yes, she is. And, why am I bothering with these when I have a _human_ pair of binoculars sitting right next to me?”

            He smirked at the binoculars in her lap. “Been wondering that since we parked.”

            There was a faint click over the com link as all three lines connected on Tony’s end. “ _The whole floor is clear, Maximoff_ ,” came his voice over the line.

            God, it had felt like they’d been sitting her for hours and they were just now getting started?!

            “ _Got it_ ,” came Wanda’s heavily accented reply. “ _I’m going in_.”

            “How’d Tony manage to clear the whole floor?” he muttered, leaning forward to check they were still on privacy mode, able to hear through the connection but not be heard.

            Natasha smirked again. “Don’t know. With Tony, I don’t think I _want_ to.”

            He laughed. “For a world class spy, you sure seem to like flying by the seat of your pants, Romanoff.”

            She gave him a coy look. “And I married _The Man with A Plan_. Aren’t we a pair?”

            He couldn’t stop the happy grin from stretching his face.

            “ _Don’t screw this up, kid_ ,” Tony muttered, sounding distracted. “ _Pepper…_ ” There was muffled noise over the link. “ _Pep, I just gotta finish this and then we can get the midnight celebrations, ‘kay babe? God…you’re a hands-y CEO_.”

            They could hear Wanda trying not to laugh. “ _I’m past the front desk guard. Easy mark; he was already half asleep. And you might want to focus, Stark, in case I ‘screw this up’ and need you_ ,” she needled.

            Tony sighed, loudly, through the speaker. “ _Real cute, kid_.”

            “ _This isn’t my first—how do you American’s say it?—Rodeo_.”

            “ _Just get your little Russian tush upstairs. I haven’t got all night_.”

            “ _Sokovia is not part of_ —” she started.

            But Steve leaned forward, pressing a blinking red button. “Let’s try to keep on point, okay, guys?” he suggested. “I haven’t got all night either.”

            Natasha’s hand was slowly massaging his knee, making him twitch.

            “ _Let me know when you get the elevator. That access key I had JARVIS mock up should get you in like you own the place_.”

            “Fancy condo,” Steve muttered.

            “ _Key accepted_ ,” Wanda said. “ _I’m going up_.”

            “ _Just remember: anything you can get on any dealings with HYDRA_ ,” Tony reminded her.

            “ _Stark. I’m not a child. Let me do my job_ ,” Wanda sighed.

            Steve’s serum-enhanced hearing picked up on the soft whirring of the elevator as it went up, heading for the top floor condo.

            Inside, Shmirkoff was still rushing around, smoothing and straightening. His less-than-svelte figure was trailing slightly behind.

            Natasha was still trying to watch through her blurry binoculars. “You’d never guess this guy hasn’t been laid in a while.”

            “Just be careful,” Steve prompted. “This guy’s bad news. We’ve got solid intel that he was working with Strucker. It took the two of us two separate ops just to nail down the location of this condo. And I _hate_ Russia.”

            How ironically appropriate, their wild goose chase finally ending with them finding that he kept a swank place in upper Manhattan.

            “ _Yeah, and what else did you nail down on those ops, there, Captain_ Romanoff?”

            “Very cute, Tony,” Natasha cut in. “You’re binoculars are garbage.”

            “ _Hey, I take that personally_ ,” he fired back, playful.

            “ _And if you hate Russia, get in line_ ,” Wanda added. There was a soft ping as her elevator doors opened. “ _I’m going in. Everyone go dark. I don’t want you bickering in my head while I’m trying to concentrate_.”

            Tony muttered something unintelligible, and Pepper giggled before the com link went quiet, leaving them with just ears on Wanda’s progress. Steve did the same, turning privacy mode back on.

            “Settle in, Steve,” Natasha murmured. “It’ll be a few.”

            He blinked, looking over at her in surprise.

            “What?” She opened the glove compartment and of the black SHIELD SUV and slid the binoculars in.

            “You called me _Steve_ ,” he said, sounding like an idiot.

            She cocked a brow, coy. “Was there _something else_ you wanted me to call you?” Her fingers trailed up his thigh.

            “You never call me Steve during a mission.”

            She shrugged. “Privacy mode is on.”

            He smirked. “Oh, so I’m only your husband _while no one else is listening_ , is that it, _Romanoff_?” he teased.

            She leaned in, her fingers dancing further up his leg. “I dunno, Rogers, you wanna be my _dirty little secret_?”

            He laughed, shaking his head, and glanced up at Shmirkoff’s huge window. There was a gentle ring as the bell went off. The pudgy arms dealer stopped at a mirror by the door, smoothed his thinning crown of dark hair, and opened the door with a flourish.

            Wanda stood in the doorway, a spidery smile in place and her darkly lined eyes flashing.

            “ _Nikita_?”

            “ _Mr. Shmirkoff_.”

            His eyes wandered away as he listened. “ _Won’t you come in, my pretty_?”

            “We’re never gonna make our reservations, Tasha,” he said.

            “ _I’ll take vodka_ ,” Wanda practically sneered, going for the cool approach. “ _If you’ve got anything decent_.”

            Shmirkoff floundered, taking her coat and nodding.

            “Steve, it’s barely eight. Dinner’s late for the holiday, our table won’t move until midnight, and that’s even if we miss our eleven-thirty call time.” She slid her hand further up his leg. “What’s got you so uptight, _Captain_?”

            He growled a little in annoyance. “We _fought_ for this night off, Tasha. I made reservations _weeks_ ago so we could have a quiet holiday, kiss at midnight, all that stuff that I couldn’t do in the war, and here we sit in a SHIELD truck, watching a Russian ex-pat be seduced. Not exactly the romantic night out I had planned.

            She squeezed his thigh. “We had a nice Christmas. Didn’t we?”

            They had. A few gifts, breakfast together, a little dancing across the hardwood floor of his living room, and dinner with Clint and Laura, the stars brilliant over the farm house.

            “Yeah, and then we topped it off with paperwork about that ridiculous op last month. Merry Christmas.”

            She sighed. “Steve…”

            “I wanted this to be special, our first holiday together. And here we get roped into this at the last minute because _everyone else_ happened to already have left for the night? You know Tony could’ve pulled strings, but instead he yanks my chain.”

            She squeezed again. “You know Tony only yanks your chain because you let him.”

            He rolled his eyes. “I know…”

            She smirked. “It’s how you know he cares.”

            In the momentary silence that followed, they could hear Wanda and Shmirkoff flirting, and it sounded like they’d already gotten to light petting.

            “At least someone’s getting lucky tonight,” he mumbled.

            She snorted. “Yeah, until he gets his head sifted through. Besides…” She’d reached the top of his thigh now, and he jerked. “The night’s still young, regardless of what my old man of a husband seems to think.”

            He let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, that old man keeps up with you, even if he is technically ninety-five. And he’s not the only one who is.” He threw his hands up. “This sort of thing is right up Bucky’s alley.”

            Natasha chuckled. “Rogers, baby, you can’t tell me that you think _Sam and Hill_ are knocking boots on the sly, but you haven’t noticed your best friend has gotten hot and heavy with Darcy?”

            His jaw dropped open. “ _Darcy_?!”

            She nodded, wincing. “Darcy.”

            He held out his hand, waist high. “Darcy. Petite brunette Darcy? Jane’s Darcy? Tiny hacker, team motivator, and general, all-around Tony babysitter and Thor wrangler? _That_ Darcy?” Truthfully, he’d always thought she was adorable, in an, ‘I’ve always wanted a little sister’ sort of way.

            She nodded again. “Same Darcy.”

            He slumped in his seat. “Huh. I missed that.”

            She shrugged. “Yeah, well, you and Bucky are close. Sometimes you miss things when you’re standing too close.”

            He frowned, thinking back and trying to spot a hint in the past week of his interactions with the metal-armed soldier. “Is it serious? I mean, we’ve always talked about anything and everything and he hasn’t said anything.”

            Another shrug. “You mention that you’d fallen in love with a super spy to him?”

            He flushed. “…Felt too…personal.”

            “Exactly.” She leaned forward, squinting up at the condo. He knew they’d given her a watered down version of some attempt at his own serum while she’d been in the Red Room, but it was nothing compared to Erskine’s original formula, dancing permanently in his blood. “And I dunno if it’s serious, but I can tell you that JARVIS pulled her out of our briefing early last week due to what he called a ‘particularly bad episode in Sergeant Barnes’ quarters’ Just paraphrasing.”

            He slapped a hand to his forehead. “Ugh, the PTSD. She’s helping him through his _PTSD_?”

            She shrugged again. “Sounds serious.”

            He shook his head. “ _Jesus_.”

            She patted his upper thigh. “That just leaves us, babe.”

            He snarled, but it was half-hearted now. If his best bud had found someone, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—complain, and Lord knew, poor Darcy had been wrenched in enough directions over the past few years, what with Thor’s side of the story.

            “Hey. We’re still spending time together. Right?”

            But his eyes had moved past her in favor of the movement through Shmirkoff’s window over her shoulder.

            “Rogers?”

            He sat forward, listening hard.

            “ _I’d show you the stars, Nikita_!” he said, and Steve saw him push the French doors open with triumphant gusto, shivering at the thought of that blast of cold New York air.

            “Steve?”

            And, just like that, Shmirkoff’s eyes dropped, finding their black SUV, parking lights low, two figures, just sitting, in the middle of the street.


	2. Diving In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, chapter two! Let me know what you think--reviews/comments are like little rays of sunshine! :) haha We've got some feels, here, some sexy times, and some adventure.

And, just like that, Shmirkoff’s eyes dropped, finding their black SUV, parking lights low, two figures, just sitting, in the middle of the street.

            “Steve, what—”

            “Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable!” he jabbered, grabbing her by the back of her neck and pulling her into a kiss.

            She mewled in surprise, but didn’t object, even as Steve could sense her knee was digging into the center console, not to mention her thigh holster.

            Natural as it was now, he still had to maneuver, and as he slanted his mouth across hers, he opened his eyes to survey the ritzy balcony over her shoulder again.

            Shmirkoff was sitting down, his back to them, and his arm around Wanda, his other arm raised. “ _To my beautiful Nikita_!” he toasted.

            He released her.

            She slumped, half across his lap and out of breath, eyes half-lidded at being caught by surprise.

            They looked at each other in the dim light.

            “Yes, they do,” she finished finally, completing their conversation from so long ago, as they’d traipsed quickly through that mall, SHIELD combusting around them, the Winter Soldier hot on their trail, the STRIKE team not as loyal as they’d thought.

            “You still uncomfortable?” he quipped, filling in her old line.

            She laughed, reaching up to brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “That’s not exactly the word I would use.”

            “Sorry. He looked down at us and I had to cover.”

            “Not complaining, Rogers.” She cocked a brow, her breath hot on his cheek. “I could always stay.”

            “Be my guest.”

            “ _So what did you have planned for our evening, Mr. Shmirkoff_?” Wanda purred over the com link.

            “What _did_ you have planned, Rogers?” Natasha repeated for him as she settled in his lap, straddling him in some ridiculous sort of gymnastics move he’d have been surprised by in the confined space if not for the knowledge that she’d been trained as a dancer in the Red Room.

            He sighed, adjusting his position beneath her and settling his hands on her hips. “Dinner in midtown. Roof. Fireworks. Maybe a little romantic liaison. Sleeping in. Breakfast together…maybe in _bed_ …”

            She leaned in, trailing soft kisses down his neck. “Mmm…” she hummed in approval.

            “Maybe some shopping. Be a married couple out in the real world for a day. We’ll probably get roped into paperwork now…”

            “ _Shopping_?” She leaned back to look at him, cocking her head, and her vibrant hair slid along her shoulders. It was getting so long now, almost as long as it had been when SHIELD had crumbled around them and been rebuilt.

            He nodded.

            “For what?”

            He shrugged, jerking his chin behind her. “Was thinking maybe a place like that.”

            She turned in his lap to glance behind her, then did a double-take as it sank in. She turned back to him, her mouth half open.

            He smirked, proud that getting a rise out of a super spy was relatively easy now. “My apartment’s a little small for the two of us, don’t you think?”

            She stared at him. “Steve…”

            He raised his hands in a surrender. “And I know how you feel about rushing things, and I know you like things the way they are, but I’m feeling like maybe we’re a little cramped, and I guess I was hoping we could find a nice place in Queens or Brooklyn with a nice open floor plan and some hardwood and a nice master suite and—”

            She kissed him, cutting him off with a muffled grunt, her mouth warm and sweet, her tongue playing at his teeth as her hands curled around his neck. “You’re worried about getting a condo when we got married after six months?”

            He shrugged. “In all honestly, I think I’m still in a state of shock that you actually like me.”

            She hummed in his ear, and the sound made his whole body fizz.

            He reignited the kiss, sliding his fingers into her hair, and she pressed recklessly against him, canting her hips. His head slammed back into the headrest and he groaned in restrained pleasure. “Tasha…”

            “ _I want to make you mine, Nikita, my beauty_.”

            “Steve…”

            “We can’t…do this here…It’s New Year’s Eve, the city is crawling with cops.”

            She pressed a hot, damp trail down his throat and gave a laugh to match, causing his whole body to tighten further. “Live on the edge, Rogers.” One hand curled around his neck, her fingers carding through the short hair at the back of his collar, and the other was cutting a trail down his front, fingering the button on his dress slacks.

            He jumped. “ _Tasha_ …”

            She moaned softly, rolling her hips against him.

            “ _Would you like another drink, Nikita, dear_?” Shmirkoff offered, voice husky and dripping with want.

            Wanda gave a positively sinful laugh and there was muffling as she obviously leaned into him. “ _No, I wouldn’t like another drink. I want something else_ …”

            Natasha’s deft fingers pulled the button apart and yanked at the zipper, and her hand slid beneath, making his breath hitch.

            “ _God_ , Tasha…” Steve groaned.

            With a stunning move too fast for him to follow, she reached over and pulled the lever. The driver’s seat tipped back and she fell into him, her grip around him tightening, and he bit his tongue to keep the growl at bay.

            Loud smacking came through the com link and Natasha gave a husky laugh in his ear. “Mission’s going according to plan.” He raised her head to peer around. “The block is deserted, everyone’s at dinner.” She plastered herself across his body.

            His hands slid up under the skirt of the dress she’d worn in the hopes of them getting straight to dinner after the op and he unbuckled the secure on her thigh holster, then yanked at her panties, sliding them aside as her Beretta hit the floor with a thud. “Tasha…we really shouldn’t.”

            But her fingers were clearly disinterested. “Trust me.” Her hair fell around him in a curtain. “And by the way. I don’t _like_ you.”

            He stared at her, breathless, his finger caressing the crease of skin at her hip, making her vibrate against him. His other hand slid up, under, and supported the small of her back so he could press her against him, wanting to feel no gap between them.

            She sighed. “I married you, didn’t I, Rogers? I love you.”

            His heart was pounding, and he sat up slightly to kiss her and the angle made her cry out, fingers gripping at his collar, his tongue sliding past to lap at her lips.

            “ _Nikita, you are more beautiful than the stars_ ,” Shmirkoff whispered, right into Wanda’s com piece.

            “You say that to me, Rogers, this is so over,” Natasha murmured.

            But their laughter died as she slid herself down around him.

            Her pace was relaxed for a while, slow and easy, and ten minutes went by with them both lost in each other’s mouths, Wanda’s mission a backdrop so strange that only a SHIELD agent wouldn’t think twice, and it was clear that this was Shmirkoff’s intention as well.

            Natasha gave a soft mewl against him, but held back as she tightened in a spasm around him, life as a seductress before her turn from the dark side having taught her to be subtle.

            Steve bit his lip, trying to keep his control. This SUV would _not_ survive if he didn’t. Sometimes he was afraid he’d hurt her, but she always battled him right back, and sometimes the bedclothes took the brunt of the damage, and they were too fevered in their passion to notice the fact they were no longer covered, and the morning alarm rang too soon.

            God, he hoped no one was outside to notice the movements of the truck.

            “ _Tasha_ …” he groaned, his hands slipping around her hips and pulling her nearer.

            She gasped, canting her hips again and sharpening the angle.

            He couldn’t stop the vicious growl that burst from his throat as he came apart, and he was too far gone to hear her own fevered sigh rasp its way out of her as she joined him.

            The SUV was silent and still.

            Wanda giggled breathily, and it was so loud over the com link that they both jumped, too busy staring dazedly at each other to remember where they were.

            Gently, Steve sat up and hit the lever on the chair so they were pressed together at the torso.

            She pressed her face against his neck, nuzzling the skin under his chin.

            He murmured into her ear and pressed a kiss to her hair, the high ebbing into a warm, tender muffling in his ears.

            “Steve…”

            But he was already moving, gently extricating himself and straightening her clothes, smoothing the black silk of her skirt back into place.

            She leaned back, letting him.

            He zipped up his pants and redid the button, sighing as he helped her off his lap, and the heel of her black Manolo Blahnik caught the gear shift. She went about tidying up, retrieving her holster from the floor of the driver’s side and securing it back on her leg.

            She slumped against him, her hand finding his knee again. “You heard me before, right?”

            He slid his arm around her and pulled her into his shoulder. “When?”

            Her fingers smoothed the material of his slacks over his knee. “When I said I didn’t like you.”

            He chuckled, twisting his head to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “Why, Black Widow, I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

            She snorted.

            He glanced back up at the huge window of Shmirkoff’s loft, his heart finally slowing to a natural rhythm.

            Wanda had him sprawled on his leather couch, and she straddled him like a pro, her own heels settled at her back, between his thighs, and one strap of her dress had slid from her shoulder.

            “Think she’ll be okay?”

            He shrugged. “She looks like she knows what she’s doing.”

            There was a soft click. “ _Steve, you there_?” Tony asked.

            He leaned forward to hit the red button again and Natasha groaned in complaint as he moved. He’d have never pegged her for a cuddly girl, but here he was, again. “Yeah, Tony—what d’you need?”

            “ _You two finished canoodling yet or am I interrupting_?”

            Natasha sighed.

            Steve snorted, going on instinct. “And I assume the fact you’re calling a confirmation that you’ve finished canoodling on your end, too.”

            There was a pause.

            “ _I’m not going to dignify that with an answer_.”

            Natasha laughed outright.

            “She looks just fine, if that’s what you mean. Haven’t you been listening?”

            “ _Well, listening and seeing are two different things, aren’t they_?” he clarified, sounding vaguely defensive. “ _Besides…I…may have…turned off access to her com…just for a minute_.”

            He shook his head. “Later, Tony. Enjoy yourself.” And he hit the button.

            “Did you mean it, earlier?” Natasha spoke up again. “About looking for…our own place?”

            He pulled her close again. “Well, yeah. I mean, if you like my apartment fine, that’s great. But I was just thinking that maybe it was…you know, getting a little cramped. We could look for a place closer to the Tower.”

            She’d been spending so much time at his place after that night in Abu Dhabi that when she’d finally moved in after their marriage, there’d barely _been_ anything to move.

            He was still trying to wrap his mind around the idea that she could be such a juxtaposition of open and loving and quiet, secretive, and indrawn.

            Not that he was complaining.

            “We could look for a place with a balcony,” she murmured.

            “And a fireplace,” he added.

            “Don’t forget the hardwood floors.” She laughed. “For a non-traditional girl, I have to admit I enjoy all the sweeping across the floors while what’s her name sings about it being a long, long time.”

            He chuckled. “Kitty Kallen. It hit number one after I went into the ice.”

            She sighed.

            “ _Nikita, my love. Why don’t we move into the bedroom_?” Shmirkoff all but begged.

            “You miss it?” Natasha asked, her mind obviously elsewhere.

            “Miss what?”

            She was quiet for a long time, and he listening carefully, his eye on Wanda’s back as he surveyed her progress. “1945.”

            He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. Yeah. Sometimes.”

            She stiffened against him. “And Peggy?”

            He blinked, saw straight through her mild question. There she went again, thinking he wasn’t as perceptive as he was. “I married _you_ , Tash, not Peggy Carter.”

            She squirmed. “I know…it’s just—”

            “No.” He cut her off, sitting forward. “You know, you’re so smart and sharp and quick, you’re a super spy, for God’s sake! But you miss the obvious!”

            She rolled her eyes. “What’s the obvious, Steve?”

            “Do I look like I’m still pining after the shadow of Peggy?”

            She shrugged, looking away, a clear sign that this was one of those times when she let her vulnerability show without any vodka behind it. “Steve…”

            He sighed, slumping back in the seat and setting a hand on her bare knee, exposed by the short skirt of her dress. “You just _jumped me in a car, Tasha_. You think I’d have been open to that under other circumstances, that I’d have gone through all this planning or hoping for a place for us if I was still in love with _Peggy Carter_?”

            She was silent.

            “Tash…that was… _so long ago_. And it wasn’t even…whole. It was… _half_ of something that _might’ve_ been. It was never a done deal, it was never a real thing. I promised her a _dance_. That was it. I promised her a dance, then I _went into the ice_. She got married. She had a whole, full, happy life without me. And that bothered me, for a while, that she had picked up the pieces and moved on, it bothered me that she had had to do that without me. But, Tash. She found a _husband_. And that tells me that what we’d had, whatever that was, it…it wasn’t what should’ve been.”

            She rolled her eyes again. “You’re telling me Captain America is a believer in _fate_?” she said, her tone flat and sharply sarcastic. “ _Seriously_?”

            But he challenged her. “Would _you_ have thought to partner the two of us together, that we’d work as _anything_ like the well-oiled machine we are? Tash, you don’t even need to _say_ anything for me to know the plan. We just… _work_. You shouldn’t think too hard about it.”

            She cocked a brow, her mouth tilting up slightly in a coquettish smirk. “A well-oiled machine, huh?”

            There was a crackle over the coms, followed by a muffled shout. “ _Nikita_!”

            They both froze, looking at each other.

            Steve leaned forward, searching the view for a visual on the two of them.

            Another crackle, then a short squeal, like two coms meeting and their signals reacting.

            Then static.

            He hit the red button.

            “Wanda?” Steve prompted, Natasha’s hand on his shoulder.

            But the couch was empty, as was the entire rest of the view of his flat.

            “Wanda?!”

            “Steve,” Natasha murmured.

            Tony clicked on again. “ _What the H-E-Double toothpicks was that_?!”

            They both slid out of the car so fast Natasha actually stumbled slightly in her high pumps. Steve straightened his slacks and adjusted the piece in his ear. “We’re going in.”

            “ _But what was that?! Don’t tell me that was his safe word_!” Tony barked.

            “I don’t know, Stark, but I haven’t got a visual!” Steve answered, slamming his door shut and coming around to meet Natasha.

            “ _What the Hell—what d’you mean, you haven’t got a visual?! You two playing footsie over there_?!”

            “Yeah, we had plans as of two hours ago, Stark,” Natasha snarled. “How’s it go? Beggars can’t be choosers?”

            They took off running toward the complex.

            “Can you and JARVIS get us in?” he asked.

            Tony’s end was clicking away as he typed, and Pepper could be heard, fretting, in the background. “ _One second, Pep…Hacker at work_ …” Tony coached, muttering to himself. “ _You at the door? I’m shutting the entire security system down_.”

            They dove forward, and Natasha lunged for the handle just as the lights went dark. She tugged, yanking it open and they both lurched through, breathless.

            It was black as pitch, no safety lights at all, and even Steve had trouble seeing.

            There was a commotion at the front desk, followed by rapid cursing, then a crash. The beam of a flashlight lit up the darkness. “Hey! What the Hell are you—”

            Natasha’s heel came up so fast, the desk clerk didn’t have any time to see her coming. It slammed into the side of his head and knocked him silly. The flashlight went tumbling through empty air, and Steve felt it blink across his face, then light up Natasha’s knee as he punched the guard in the jaw and she kicked his middle.

            He went down like a sack of potatoes and the flashlight hit the carpeted floor with a dull thud, the beam lighting up the path to the elevator.

            Steve looked at her, a little winded. “Well-oiled what was it I said?”

            She rolled her eyes, but ducked for the flashlight, peering around the gloom with a concentrated frown. “Anything, Stark?”

            Tony was still clicking away. “ _I’m working on the cameras. I should be into the last one in—Oh, that is not good_.”

            They looked at each other. “What?” Steve ground out.

            “ _So, yeah, I’m into the cameras_ ,” Tony continued, his tone ridiculously nonchalant. “ _Um, you might wanna get moving. A couple dark SUVs just pulled up at the back entrance and some very Russian, very not-nice looking gentlemen just piled out. I believe that looks like an Uzi_.”

            Sighing, Steve grabbed Natasha’s arm and they took off toward the elevator, the flashlight tumbling back down to the floor with an eerie strobe effect and going out. “Doors!” he called through his com, just as they rang open, mercifully lit by a safety light. They tumbled through just as the front doors opened, a small mob spotting them. Steve gritted his teeth, pushing the doors shut in a fit of déjà vu, and they only breathed again when they were moving.

            “ **Agents Rogers and Romanoff, how nice to serve you again** ,” JARVIS spoke through their coms. “ **Or would you prefer Agents Rogers, plural? I am unaware of any change of surname on the part of Ms. Romanoff in any official records, but a marriage certificate in the courts of Washington DC indicates otherwise**.”

            Natasha rolled her eyes and huffed a strand of hair from her face. “No change. _Yet_.”

            Steve eyed her.

            “ **Then shall I continue to call you by separate indicators**?”

            There was a soft ping and the third floor stop indicator at the ceiling lit up.

            Steve sighed. “For God’s sake, JARVIS!”

            But Tony was still typing. “ _Hold on one second_ …”

            The light went out, as did the safety light.

            Steve sighed.

            “ _Going…up_?” Tony asked as they bypassed the Russian goons attempts at gaining access. “ _Or is that ‘Up, periscope’? I can jimmy those doors to lock in case you guys wanna listen to ‘Love In An Elevator’, you know, improve the mood—it worked for Steven Tyler_.”

            “Tony, just get us upstairs!” Steve yelled.

            “ _Eek, touchy, touchy_ ,” he quipped. “ _And here I thought your canoodling would’ve improved your mood exponentially, Rogers. Pretty appropriate, really, since we all figured you were grumpy ‘cause you weren’t getting laid. Here, we all find out you two were shacking up on the sly. Very smooth. I won’t underestimate you again._ ”

            Steve took a deep breath.

            “Yanking your chain, again,” Natasha reminded him, her fingers slipping around his wrist.

            “We could be on the roof of the Penthouse 808 right now, enjoying cocktails, but _nooo_ , _someone_ has to see Wicked from the front row,” Steve growled.

            She smirked. “You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”

            “ _Oh, you guys are so cute_ ,” Tony deadpanned. “ _You’re here. Try not to get shot on your way out_.”

            The doors slid open.

            They both flattened to either wall, staring at each other in the dark silence. A small safety light had come on over Shmirkoff’s door, dimly illuminating the hallway, but they were alone.

            Steve ducked out first, helping Natasha over the threshold by force of habit, even though she kept telling him that it wasn’t 1943 and he might piss some women off.

            He drew his Sig from his waist and turned to make sure Natasha had pulled her Beretta from her thigh holster, exceedingly glad she’d strapped it back on after their rendezvous.

            “ _Okay, looks like there was probably a commotion at some point inside. Some articles of clothing strewn about, and a tiny blinking light at the edge of the side table. Probably some sort of panic button. That or this freak really likes getting jiggy with a big party of people. Is that still what the kids are calling it or is it just an orgy_?” Tony was blathering again, and they just looked at each other, rolling their eyes, as they approached the door, Natasha tip-toeing to keep her heels from clacking on the marble stonework.

            “ _Either way, I’m thinking that’s why you guys are about to join the Russian Stair Climbers Club, so I’d get a move on. I’ve locked all the security doors remotely, but I’m not sure how long it’ll all hold. I’m stretching JARVIS pretty thin tonight. I don’t think I can get back into the elevator_.”

            “ **Have no worries, Sir. I am perfectly capable of handling your needs** ,” answered the butler. “ **Agents Rogers and Romanoff, is there anything more I can be of service for at present?** ”

            “Shut up, JARVIS, you’re making me tense,” Natasha muttered.

            Everything went quiet.

            Steve approached the door and jimmied the handle, clenching his jaw as it clanked. But it gave under his strength and he threw the door wide as they both drew their weapons to point.

            Nothing.


	3. All In A Night's Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, last chapter! This was my first endeavor over at FFN, so it ended up being pretty short. Let me know what you think! It's great to hear from you! Also, if you found you really liked this, I'll be posting it's sequel/companion pretty soon. It's concurrent with what's going on here, meaning it's also happening on New Year's, only it's a glimpse at this mysterious date that Bucky and Darcy are on. Appropriately, I titled it Date Night Dash, so that should give you all a hint. Anyway, look for that, if you'd like! Hope you enjoyed this! Here we go!

Steve approached the door and jimmied the handle, clenching his jaw as it clanked. But it gave under his strength and he threw the door wide as they both drew their weapons to point.

            Nothing.

            There really was clothing strewn about, but it all looked like men’s fashion, or at least what Steve recalled Shmirkoff to have been wearing, a gray polo shirt, there were some black slacks, one black sock…

            They continued into the condo, darting around corners and throwing off hand signals, mouthing back and forth as they cleared room after room, closets, and the kitchen, until only the bedroom was left, where their visual had been cut off by an opposite facing window.

            They squared off for a moment about who should take point, but Steve’s scowl won and he darted into the bedroom, Sig raised, Natasha hot on his heels—

            To find Shmirkoff passed out and snoring, sprawled across his king sized bed, hair mussed, in only his boxers and one black sock.

            Steve sighed, dropping his weapon to his side.

            “Wanda?” Natasha called in an uncertain whisper.

            “ _Don’t tell me you lost an operative_ ,” Tony said in their ears.

            “Shut up, Stark. You turned off your com entirely, remember?” Steve snapped as Natasha checked the ensuite bathroom and the walk-in closet.

            She came back shaking her head. “You think they somehow got up here first and took her?” she posited, leaning over Shmirkoff and observing him with a reluctant frown, jerking softly when he let off a loud snort.

            Steve looked around. No windows were disturbed, there was no breeze or draft. “Maybe.”

            “ _I’ve been hacked into these cameras, I’d have seen something_ ,” Tony insisted.

            “You helped us with the elevator first, Tony,” Steve reminded him.

            Stark was surprisingly on point though, responding with a muffled curse as he realized Steve was right. “ _Great._ I _lost the operative_.”

            Natasha shook her head, though. “We should head back down. Maybe we can beat them to the SUVs.”

            He was already moving. “Stairs.”

            “Yup.”

            They catapulted back into the main suite, out into the hall, and slammed the doorway open to the stairs, clanging and clamoring as their footsteps echoed in the vast, cement chamber. They made it two flights before looking down told them they had about half a dozen rough men to deal with on their way.

            One of them looked up as they slogged along, pointing and yelling something at his men, and they all followed suit, looking well put-out.

            “What’s he saying?” Steve asked, still not able to pick anything out.

            But Natasha was scowling as they sized up the group. “Ugh, it’s not Russian!”

            “ _What_?!” Steve yelped, glancing between her and the nearest man, who was nearly on them. “What do you mean?!”

            “ _I mean_ —”

            The first guy didn’t even think twice, not even recognizing who they were, and Steve used the idiot’s momentum to leverage them back into the cement wall, before slamming his head into the concrete and disarming the Uzi.

            “You mean, _what_?!” Steve asked, watching the rest of his buddies catch up and hoping their climb had tapped their energy.

            “I _mean_ —” she began again, but then they were set upon and they both went into defense mode, Steve punching and grinding with his fist and slamming with the butt of his gun as Natasha kicked and whirled, and they exchanged dizzy opponents numerous times, got their number down to four, then three, then one.

            Finally, the last one hit the ground, wheezing, his black goatee askew on his chin.

            Breathless, she looked up at him. “I _mean_.” She swallowed. “It’s not Russian. They’re speaking Ukrainian. I don’t know much Ukrainian.”

            Steve nodded, leaning back to catch his breath. “Oh. Good.”

            “ _Any sign of witchy-witch_?” Tony was back.

            “None. We’re still heading down,” Steve said, and he led the way, the two of them careening down several more flights of stairs, before meeting a second group.

            This one was dumber than the first and allowed themselves the distraction of checking out Natasha’s legs, even as she used them to bring down two of them while Steve worked on the other three.

            Finally, they made it back to ground level and slammed through the doors.

            “ _That’s all the backup, I think_ ,” Tony told them.

            “Thanks, Sta—”

            “Perhaps not. Hm, Natalia?” a familiar voice quipped.

            There was a scuffle, and by the time Steve had turned, Shmirkoff had Natasha in his meaty clutches, her milky pale throat at an unnatural angle and centimeters from snapping.

            Steve lurched instinctively, but Shmirkoff was steely. “Ah. Mr. America, I’d stop right there. Drop the gun.”

            He hesitated, heart pounding out a staccato rhythm in his chest as his eyes met hers.

            “ _Drop_ it!” he snarled.

            Swallowing thickly, agony sliding up his throat, he let his Sig loose to the floor.

            “ _Tell her to put them back_!” he growled, shaking Natasha.”

            “Put _what_ back, you sic—” She started, but Shmirkoff cut her off.

            “ _Put them back! I want you to tell her to put them back_!”

            Finally, Steve noticed the red rimming his eyes, and realized what he might mean, combined with the dazed, but aggressive look on his face. “Put what—?”

            “ _NIKITA_!” he yelled.

            Natasha flinched, eyes moving skyward, as though worried his shouting would rouse his goons.

            “ _You go and get her and tell her to put them back! My memories! My knowledge! I want it all back! She stole it from me_!”

            Natasha swallowed, but edged her hip slightly to face Steve, revealing to him that she still held her Beretta in her hand, where Shmirkoff had unwittingly pinned her arm behind her back at a useless angle.

            They used a moment to communicate with their eyes.

            “Just like _you_ , Natalia Romanova. I _remember_ you, you little _darling_. You were the _swan_ , I remember! The swan of the ballet, and yet you cornered me like a _snake_ and you stole from me _that_ night, too!” He shook her, but Natasha was firm. “Well, I won’t let you do the same to me again! _You go and get the little bitch and make her put them back_!”

            He was clearly delirious.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”

            He shook her harder. “You _shut_ up! I’m going to keep both of you tonight, I’m going to keep the both of you and to Hell with your little captain!” he bellowed, swaying slightly on his feet, his eyes crossing. “ _And you can put all that you stole from me_ —”

            But he never finished. Taking the opportunity his delirium provided, Natasha let her Beretta slip at just the right angle so that it hit the heel of her Manolo Blahnik, using the angle and the momentum to kick it to Steve, who caught it and cocked the hammer, his shot punching straight through Shmirkoff’s forehead before he could spit another word.

            He went down like a stone, but Natasha was able to catch herself up on the wall before he pulled her down, and she stood there, breathless, for a moment, staring at him. He hadn’t even had much time to worry…

            Steve scooped her into his embrace, tucking her head under his chin for just a moment, not nearly long enough to him. “ _Oh, God_ …”

            She smiled. “I’m _fine_ , Steve,” she sighed, letting him cradle her and smelling his aftershave on his still-neat pale blue dress shirt. “Not a damsel, remember?”

            “Shut up,” he breathed.

            They stood there for a long moment in the quiet, Steve murmuring to her.

            Finally—“ _Anyone find the creepy chick_?” Tony sounded slightly embarrassed on the link.

            “For God’s sake, tell him I’m right here,” came a familiarly accented voice from the front doors.

            They looked up to find Wanda standing there, looking slightly disheveled but no worse for wear, eyeing them with concern.

            Steve straightened, smoothing a hand down Natasha’s mussed hair. “Accounted for, Tony.”

            “ _Oh, thank God. Or Gods. Or Thor. Whatever. She get the goods_?”

            She heard, somehow, and nodded, tapping her temple. “It’s all up here. Tell him not to have a fit. I will debrief him in the morning; it’s been a long night and the information will plague me enough until I get it out. I need to sleep.”

            Just then, the guard stirred from their beating earlier, turning over and staring up at the Scarlet Witch. He frowned, bleary eyed. “Hey! What are you—”

            But Wanda silenced him with a heel to his head. Again. She rolled her eyes. “Are we ready to go? Don’t you two have a date? It’s the New Year and you are lovers, yes?”

            A little surprised at all this, Steve and Natasha could only blink at each other.

            But Wanda turned on her heel and went out, holding the door for them as they scurried after. “I must have gone down the stairs just before you. I would’ve radioed, but Shmirkoff got suspicious just as I was finishing up. I was able to grapple the rest of the intelligence from him, but he spotted my earpiece and I had to ditch it in the trash compacter on my way out. I was able to tug at his equilibrium somewhat and he was out like a light. That is probably the shouting you heard. Just as I was coming to the doors, the SUV pulled up and I had to wander around back. I apologize for the slight mess.” She shrugged.

“Mind games are never easy. But you two already know that, yes, with the Red Room and your Sergeant Barnes, hm?” She smiled genially. “Hopefully the restaurant I told him about is getting him good results with Darcy,” she said, offhandedly as they wandered toward their abandoned truck.

            Steve blinked. “I… _what_ …”

            Natasha shrugged, looking tired, and even though it really was only just after nine, Steve could tell they just weren’t going to make it happen tonight.

            But Wanda kept talking, like they were old friends, her accent smoothing out as she relaxed. “I was under the impression tonight was to be his night to ask her to move in. The two of them make a good pair. She relaxes him and he straightens her out a bit. This is good. I hope I was able to help.” And she smiled. “I’m sorry your plans for tonight were ruined.” She pulled herself up into the backseat of the SUV.

            Steve helped Natasha in, who didn’t protest this time, and went around to get into the driver’s seat. “So…everything went off largely without a hitch?”

            She nodded, yawning as she clicked on her seatbelt. “Rather, yes. My only regret is your evening. I told Stark I did not need help, but I am told we have each other’s…backs, is it?”

            Natasha slumped in her seat, her hand finding Steve’s knee again as he turned the engine over and put it in drive, pulling out of their parking spot just as the SHIELD cleaning crew pulled up. “Yep.”

            Wanda shrugged again. “I am happy to have the support then. At least allow me to do something for you for causing Stark to interrupt your night. It is a holiday and you are important to each other. You should be free to spend it together.”

            Steve studied her in the rearview mirror. She’d certainly come a long way since they’d met her; she appeared to have gotten over her brother’s death, seemed, in fact, to view it as his own bad choice. “You _really_ don’t have to.”

            But she nodded. “I do. Name the food. Since I’ve gotten comfortable here in the States, I’ve made it a personal project to find the best of the best in your City That Never Sleeps.” She frowned. “Or is that Los Angeles? I can never remember…”

            “Well, Tasha?” he asked, looking over at her. “What do you want?”

 

            “That one looked just like Minnie Mouse,” Natasha said as she chewed, pointing out the window.

            The sky crackled and burst with shooting tendrils of light and the distant strains of _Auld Lang Syne_ could be heard, even at their distance, and through his window.

            Steve looked down at her in his lap and chuckled, shaking his head.

            She narrowed her eyes. “You laughing at me, Rogers?”

            He laughed harder, eyes crinkling. “Just, you. A super spy, pointing out a Minnie Mouse firework.”

            She surprised him and reached back to smack him on the shoulder. “Shut up.” She sat forward for another slice of pizza.

            “It was nice of Wanda to do this,” he said, adjusting his legs, and folding them up again. The top floor apartment wasn’t a roof and it didn’t have a balcony, but it was good enough to enjoy the fireworks by.

            “It’s just a couple pizzas, Steve, it’s not like she bought us a four-star meal.”

            “I told her it could’ve just been one.”

            Natasha laughed. “Steve, you burn through so many calories you could eat two in one sitting—it was _always_ going to be _two_.”

            A blush warmed his ears.

            But she leaned back against him for a kiss and he cradled her against his front, leaning down to fulfill her silent request.

            They’d been cuddling on the floor for the past half hour, devouring the food Wanda had treated them to and waiting for midnight. She’d been right. She’d found a really good pizza joint.

            They weren’t as hot as they could’ve been, but that was mostly their own fault.

            Wired and exhausted at the same time—how did _every_ op end that way?—they’d climbed in to share a shower and scrape off their wild goose chase.

            And…maybe things had gotten a little distracted.

            It wasn’t often he got laughter like that out of Natasha, but she’d definitely done plenty of laughing as they’d fumbled in the shower, slick against each other as he’d pressed her against the wall, taking charge under the hot spray, steam billowing around them for a long time before it finally ran cool and they rushed to wash each other.

            They’d been too exhausted afterward to do anything but slide on baggy sweats and drag the cold pizzas over to the window.

            A kiss at midnight, and here they were. Content.

            “I’m sorry about earlier,” she suddenly said, her voice low.

            Or…maybe not so content.

            “For what?”

            She shrugged. “I had a…moment of doubt.”

            He shrugged back. “We all have ‘em, Tasha.”

            She put the remains of her slice back in the box. “You just…get a certain look in your eyes when you think about…you know, before. And then I start thinking, and, I mean, things were so different then, and I can’t give you what…it used to be. I can’t give you a white picket fence, and I can’t give you a family and…I guess it bothers me, sometimes, more than I really realize.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Listen to me: _The Black Widow_ , talking about _white picket fences_.”

            He spent a long time staring at her in mild surprise. He’d known going in, of course, that the Red Room had sterilized her. He’d been working hard on letting go of his anger at the thought—not that they’d made it impossible for them to have children, but that they’d put her through that at all, that they’d _taken_ that choice from her. But she so rarely spoke of it...

            “You just said it yourself, and I don’t think you even realize it, baby,” he said, softly.

            She wouldn’t look at him. “What?”

            “You said things were different then…but _so was I_.”

            The fireworks continued to shoot up into the night sky, bright reds and vibrant pinks and purples, sparkling indigos.

            “I came out of the ice a different man, Natasha. The things I wanted then…they were different. And now…there’s no room to want them, not with other things to hope for. Times have changed, things have changed… _I’ve_ changed, Tasha. It’s not 1945. 1945 is gone. I’m living in 2015. I like it here. I like the _choices_ here. I like that I can _choose_ what I want and not _have_ to want what I’m _supposed_ to want.”

            She sighed impatiently, sitting forward to look at him. “Steve, c’mon. You’re Mr. Traditional. You’ve got ‘ _Family Man_ ’ written all over you. It’s like you came out of a mold—you _did_!” She snorted. “You _actually_ did!”

            He sighed, knowing where this was heading. “That’s because you’re seeing _Captain America_. You’re not seeing _Steve Rogers_. I don’t want you to be married to Captain America. I want you to be married to _Steve Rogers_. _Captain America doesn’t exist_.”

            “ _I can’t give you a family, Steve_!” she nearly yelled.

            But he took the wind out of her sails before she could set off, and shrugged. “No, you’re not _hearing_ me. You _already have_.”

            She blinked. “ _What_?!”

            “ _You’re_ my family.”

            She rolled her eyes, scoffing. “ _Oh, God, call the Schmaltz Police, Rogers_.”

            But he kept going. “ _You don’t understand, Tasha_. I came out of the ice with _nothing_. _Nothing and no one_. _Everyone_ was dead. _I_ was dead! I was _alone_. And there were two groups of people: the ones who were so _desperate_ to ignore Steve Rogers in favor of getting fascinating factoids out of _Captain America_ ; or the ones who were so intent on _holding my hand_ that they made it all worse. But you weren’t either of those things, Tasha!”

            She stared at him, wide-eyed and pale.

            “I didn’t have my _regiment_. I didn’t have _Bucky_. I barely had my own sanity. The only thing I had in abundance was _anger_. And _bitterness_. But you came in, you showed me the ropes, you didn’t talk _up_ and you didn’t talk _down_. You said, ‘ _here’s the plan and we’re sticking to it_ ’ and that’s what we did. And then we did it again. And _again_. Until the routine was so old that I realized I’d gotten so far ahead, that I’d _forgotten to look back_. Do you get it? Do you get how big that was for me, Tash?! You fixed the hole in me, you filled it in—and you didn’t even realize you were doing it. You treated me like any other guy out there, not _Captain America_ , not even _Steve Rogers_. You just were. And, then, when the world was strange and unrecognizable, when it was falling apart and wormholes were spewing cosmic trash, you were a pillar, a _constant_.”

            There were tears brimming in her eyes, and the vodka was sitting on the bar shelf, untouched.

            “By the time we got to Abu Dhabi, I didn’t know what it was I was feeling, I didn’t have a name for it. But then we were wrapped up in each other and it just clicked into place. You thought all that was a _coincidence_? You thought I’d spend that night with you like that for nothing at all?” He shook his head. “God, I think _Clint_ was sitting by the radio, _specifically_ waiting for us to snap. He saw it before either of us.”

            The lights were reflecting in her glassy gaze.

            “Tash, I think I loved you the moment you walked out of Fury’s office with me and snapped that you weren’t gonna hold my hand and molly-coddle me. Because you were the first person _not_ to. That meant… _so much_ to me, then. _You have no idea_.”

            Slowly, a wry smile crept across her mouth. “So…” She cleared her rough throat, even as the husky sound of it turned Steve on a little all over again, and he cursed the stamina the serum had cursed him with. “I been your best girl every since Abu Dhabi? Even though you didn’t say anything until that night in Nice?”

            Surprised and relieved, he laughed. “Something like that. Yeah.”

            But it melted away, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “ _Steve_ …” she whispered.

            He sighed, wrapping his arms tighter around her. “I don’t want any of that stuff. I want what we have, _now_.”

            “I don’t know how to _do_ this. I spent so long being _broken_ and you spent so long showing me that I’m _not_ and I… _I don’t know how_ …”

            He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Neither do I. We’ll just have to wade in together. Besides, all this crazy with SHIELD, all this stuff that keeps us from being a normal married couple…it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

            And just like that, at the reminder of that stupid speech he’d made that day, before the Triskelion had crumbled around them, she snorted, turning her head to look at him. “ _Really_ , Rogers?”

            He laughed. “ _Really_ , Romanoff. I’m from Brooklyn, babe. Ain’t nothing traditional about me.”

            “Was I really your first lay since 1945?”

            The flush was back, reddening his ears. “I told you that you were, didn’t I?”

            But her eyes were sly. “Hm. Pretty impressive for an old man.”

            “You know it,” he countered, dropping his mouth to her throat, left exposed by the old t-shirt that she’d stolen from his drawer and was now drowning in. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

            She gave a soft little mewl as he nipped at her pulse. “You’re right…about this apartment. We should look at places tomorrow.”

            He smiled against her skin. “Ah, _victory_. But sleeping in first.”

            She laughed, her hands coming up to cup around his arm, wrapped about her front.

            “I knew I’d bring you around.”

            She twisted to fix him with a look. “Don’t get cocky, Rogers. You haven’t _brought_ me yet.”

            He gave a husky chuckle as he picked her up, forcing her to wrap her legs around him as he moved toward the bedroom. “Oh, I haven’t even gotten _started_ yet, Romanoff.”

            She turned back to the window. “But—Steve—the fireworks.”

            He grinned. “Don’t worry— _you’ll get your fireworks_.”

 

FIN

 


End file.
